Little Red Riding Hood
by The Frisky Firelily
Summary: Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? Post-BDM. Epilogue added.
1. Ears

**TITLE:** Little Red Riding Hood

**DISCLAIMER:** Nope, don't own anything :)

**A/N:** Ah children, my newest fic. Am actually really excited about this one so am trying desperately to keep my enthusiams appropriately checked.

Little Red Riding Hood

Little Red Riding Hood is awake. She cannot sleep tonight, not when her mind races, not when her brutalized brain is inadvertantly seeking out information. Not when the thoughts and dreams of her crewmates are acting like a seductive wisp of smoke, slipping silently into her mind, hazing her thoughts in their warm cloud. Her skull feels choked on these intrusions, her rewired pathways shocking her damaged neurons into delving for more information from whatever sources are available.

A warrior woman is clutching her stomach, feeling the comfort of the swell, feeling life. Two hearts beat, they throb from her room, one fast, one slow, both beating in a memory. Dreams of laughter and sex fill the warrior woman's head. Her precious cargo lacks such cognitive faculties, drawing from it's incubators' baser memories, dreaming instead in waves of colour. Tonight is warm ocean blue, bright sun yellow, lime green. A hawaiian shirt of dreams.

Another mind dreams of grand balls and even grander expectations, bright lights and the clinking of glasses filling the mind. A dream of a huge crowd, a nightly performance, a requirement of class. The dream slowly fades, changes. The ballroom is empty except for a dress of richest royal blue, floating with a brown coat. The clothing dances a private waltz.

Yet another dream is triggered through the olfactory system – tea and perfume and female warmth fill the head of the sleeper. His dreams are of bloody battle, soldiers covered in filth and grime, and a planet with millions of silent victims. In the dream he follows a waft of incense to peace. Calm. Serenity.

Two dreams have mingled, hopelessly entwined, strawberries and surgical steel. Fear and hope mingle with joy and anxiety. One dream reeks of anticipation, of a ring, whilst the other dreams anxiously of fancy ladies stealing away her shiny. The tactile world of reality affects the subconcious. A tightened arm around a waist is enough to dissapate the discord of anxiety and doubt, replacing fancy ladies with chubby children.

Another dream now, this one of skin and sweat, of creamy flesh and tight grips, of long lean legs locked lovingly, lithe lily limbs langourously licked. This dream has sighs and moans, cries and groans. This dream has chocolate curls and ballet twirls. This dream has flashing knives and reaver scythes ending, starting, saving lives. Little loony laughing wives. The sleeper slumbers steadily.

Captain said no Reading crew, since Reading crew was very bad. Daddy might get mad.

Little Red Riding Hood slips from her narrow bed and dons her rich red dress, light as fairy silk and designed for dancing. She slips the blood coloured hood over her head before stepping silently towards the cargo bay. She watches, listens, smells as she creeps, hearing and Hearing what her fellow woodsmen are doing. Sleeping, slumbering, all soundly.

She looks to the shoes in her hand. The pale pink footwear was hard earned, years of training, dedication in each blocked slipper. Ballerina toes make lethal weapons. As do ballerinas. The well worn fabric speaks of long use, and expert hands tie the ribbons around thin but strong ankles. She tests one foot, raising en pointe, before dropping it back down. Then the other, the material stretching and creaking slightly at the movements. Left, then right, then left, then right. The bar of the weights resting in it's metal cradle above the weight bench is the right height, the makeshift barre allowing her to stretch out long limbs that have been conditioned to hide their strength behind lean muscle.

Her feet slip over the roughened floor with ease, she begins slowly. Demi-plié, demi-plié, grand-plié. Demi-plié, demi-plié, grand-plié. Demi-plié, demi-plié, grand-plié. Again and again until the muscles are loosened. Arms stretched, perfectly supported. Core is controlling the body, supported from underneath rather than above. Princess of pulling up.

Preliminaries completed. Turnout is still perfect, posture still sublime. Good body, good to behave. Little Red Riding Hood creeps from the bench to the open space of the floor and begins. Adagio, slow and graceful, crossing the floor. Arabesque, first position. Speed up now, allegro. Arabesque, pirouette, battement, first en retiré, then attitude. Échappé with a cheeky twinkle, feet flicking faster and faster. Quicker still now, Red Riding Hood crosses the floor and performs her grand jete, extension perfect, legs splitting perfectly midair. Landing quiet as a kitten, feet barely a whisper across the open floor.

Sweating now, but enjoying herself, Red Riding Hood can only concentrate on muscle movement. No thoughts, no peeking and prying, just blissful blank of concentration. Exerting but enjoying, stamina intact, muscle memory taking over. Concentrate now, tis your coup-de-grace. Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant, perfectly supported on left leg, right flicking like a switchblade, coming in and maintaining speed. Down and up, keep the momentum. Barely a whisper of air out of flushed cheeks and pink mouth, red hood long fallen around the milky bare shoulders, dark hair flying outwards.

So quiet, but her head is noisy with her own concentration. Red Riding Hood revels in her body's ruminations, amazed by aural silence and the inner sound. Her own thoughts, the bliss of her own private basket of treats. To grandmother's house we go.

Quietest student in all her classes, feet seeming soundproof, much praise for her grace and lightness. She is pleased with the effect now. Relieved. No disturbing crew.

A scrape on the catwalk.

"Girl get yer gorram ass to bed 'afore I take it there myself. Man can hardly sleep a wink with all that noise yer makin'." She is startled into her finish early but manages to maintain her pull up, hips aligned and spine straight, balancing herself. She stares up at the large man with the sharp teeth. He wears only cargo shorts that pass his knees and boots. His chest is broad, like his back and shoulders, and she knows his skin is darker than her pale flesh. Black hair is sprinkled, and she can almost feel his hackles rising at been awoken.

"She thought she was quiet." She studies the sides of his head as he raises an eyebrow, thinks she can see the pointed grey tufts where pink shells should normally be. He shrugs, turning and exiting the cargo as he throws his words over his shoulder.

"Not to me."

Little Red Riding Hood stands quietly in the centre of the cargo bay. She is thoughtful. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"My oh my, what big ears you have."

A/N: Ok, how are we travelling? I get that the writing is a little on the loopy side, and I'm not sure how well this is working, but I'm enjoying writing it. Also, for the ballerina's amongst us, I have only done really basic ballet classes so please feel free to either correct or simply take with a grain of salt. Please review!


	2. Hands

**TITLE:** Little Red Riding Hood

**DISCLAIMER:** Still just a penniless fan

**A/N:** I'm so sorry I'm taking so long to update this, my muse got over excited, then completely fizzled out! I wrote to chapters that when I re-read them just sucked so I've had to start them over. Anyway, am hopefully back on track now with this little tale Hope you all like it!

Little Red Riding Hood is happy. A joyous shriek has filled the cargo bay, bringing the rest of the crew running. They first look to her, standing balanced on the catwalk, but before the admonitions can begin they follow her eye line to the cargo bay. The doctor swings his future bride in his arms, each face lit up with the delighted smile of one in love, a ring glinting whenever the artificial light hits. Congratulations are abundant, and even one who has lost the most finds a small smile gracing her face.

Father has declared an outing to celebrate. Persephone looms large, and a trip of drinks and dancing is decided. Little Red Riding Hood is whisked away into the lovely lair of an ex-escort along with the others, the grease streaked and solemnly swollen. She is silent she watches the whirlwind that is Mother dearest. First the mechanic is cleaned and painted lightly. Little is needed when a woman wears love. Her pretty pink summer dress is accented with borrowed shiny. Even the first mate submits to the tender ministrations, a silver dress shirt expertly altered to allow for stomach room, revealing amplified cleavage, leather pants looking oddly feminine in the wake of loose tresses and dangling earrings.

Finally Red Riding Hood is dressed in a gown of crimson, fitting tightly against her slender form, hem touching her knees, thin arms left bare. Hair is brushed into a curling waterfall, chocolate locks brushing her shoulders and sliding along her naked back. Dark eyes are rimmed in black kohl, but no other adornment is allowed. 'Tis unrequired. A pause in the activity as the eyes of the warrior woman widen, hands immediately going to her stomach, and a smile gracing her now less grief stricken features as her passenger makes his presence known.

Assembly follows in the cargo bay where further compliments are distributed evenly. The males of the ship are not peacocks; dress remains relatively unchanged, although shirts are substituted for t-shirts. Little Red Riding Hood's boots are silent as they cross the floor, her eyes watching the Wolf. No sheep's clothing, only a black shirt where once naked women danced over his pelt. Still laden with ladies, his firearms providing the only other adornment to his large form. She watches large hands as they skim briefly, a well-established routine checking fire power prior to evacuation of the ship. Right hand touches hip, then ankle, before returning to left sleeve.

Their venue of choice is dark, seedy, but appropriate. Little Red Riding Hood widens her mental net as they enter, searching for threats to the family. Nothing yet, but she remains aware. Father glances at her briefly as they move to a table, and she shakes her head, pleased at his trust in her. Basking in paternal approval she smiles. She is jolted from her reverie by a sensation on her lower back, left bare by the dipping dress. She glances to her right. The Wolf looks straight forward, eyes refusing to meet her own, and the sensation is gone. A paw, briefly skimmed against milky flesh, returns to his hip, resting on his protection. She notes the well worked skin and now hardened blisters, gained from hours of gun play and hard spent energy. She felt long fingers, digits which are now absently stroking the handle of Patrice, and wonders which marks on his hands are from that particular lady.

Her mind is assaulted with images of pale flesh and torn red dress, hair spread over pillows, mouth gasping and moaning. Just as quickly as the violation occurs it is gone, an odd sensation of loss filling her battered psyche. They are seated, rountine hard to break, just as they would be at home. Intoxicants are ordered immediately, before menus are perused.

Throughout the meal the conversation is fast, banter and affection lacing every syllable and Red Riding Hood enjoys the ebb and flow of family. Her soon to be sister is glowing tonight, and her brother has never looked happier. Loss of fortune is nothing compared to this gain. She feels the spectres of family members passed, feels the joy of the pilot and the approval of the preacher. Conversation grows rowdier as more drinks arrive, and Little Red Riding Hood looks to the glass in front of her. First time.

She sips, eyes widening as the liquid burns a happy trail down her throat, settling in her stomach like a comforting fire. The Wolf has glanced in her direction, eyes narrowing and a smirk forming across his face. Her brother raises an eyebrow but nods; permission to be older granted. She hums happily to herself. More please.

The night moves forward as the drinks disappear, music now filling the bar with bass that tickles her toes, and she wants to move. Intentions are expressed to Father, who nods, eyes following her to the floor. Faster than the exquisite tones of Mozart and other ancient musicians, this beat doesn't demand turnout or precision. Old habits die hard, back remains straight, muscles refusing to release their grace, but the body moves joyously, unhindered by its own training.

Release. Sweet and stunning release as she moves across the floor, unaware of eyes studying her all throughout the room. Legs kick out, arms balancing as she twirls and spins. The thoughts of others drop away as she moves in sync with the music, travelling across the floor, briefly partnering at times, moving in solitude at others. She is holding her basket of treats again, skipping gaily through the forest, the only thoughts in her head are her own of joy and release. Mistake.

Too buried in her own comfort to hear the covetous cruelty, she doesn't notice the angry desire in the stranger's eyes. Finds herself suddenly aware of being pulled too close by unwelcome hands, held too tight by roaming digits. The stranger's breath is hot with whisky and the sour stench of unwashed teeth, mouth grinning horribly, revealing gaping holes. She struggles to move away, head too clouded by drink to trigger her training, suddenly frightened and confused. She feels light headed, and fights the urge to faint, the alcohol weighing her consciousness down in a way not previously noticed. Another body behind her now and two to either side, blocking her from other view, while more hands now travel lasciviously along her thin form. Her red dress is hitched up just as a filthy paw covers her mouth, stopping the scream that was about to build. The predators laugh as another runs his vile hand along the inside of her slim, pale thigh.

The only thing predators fear is a larger predator.

Suddenly one attacker is torn from her, quickly followed by another. The third has his arm swiftly and deftly broken, before being thrown aside with the rest of his pack. Only one is still clutching her, he of the sour breath and cruel eyes, eyes that lack their previous lustful intentions and are now filled with fear. He is lifted by his throat by the larger predator that has come to steal his prey.

She looks up into the furiously fierce blue eyes of the Wolf. One large hand is wrapped around the neck if her attacker the other gripping her tightly around her small waist, holding her to his massive form. He doesn't bother addressing the man, simply throws him into the nearest wall, watching him slump against it with a trickle of blood trailing a path down his face.

Little Red Riding Hood tries to hold herself up on shaking legs but finds she can't, and the Wolf notices too. Sweeps her straight up into thickly muscled arms, her chocolate curls skimming over him as her head lolls and she tries to stay conscious. The rest of their pack make their way over and out of the bar, anger rolling off them towards the other patrons at having ruined their festivities. Father and the Doctor both pause to kick at the still slumped men who started the trouble. Bodies move out of the way as the Wolf prowls through the bar and then the streets, people frightened of the fierce violence in his eyes.

She is carried in long strides back to the ship, back towards her room. Her brother has glanced over her during their voyage home, his mind quickly assuring him that it is simply alcohol and some shock that has exhausted her so. She feels the anger and desire of violence rolling off her rescuer, arms holding her tightly to his broad chest. She smells cigar smoke, whiskey and fury, and odd combination that she finds she enjoys. She feels strong paws gripping her tightly, the calloused pads of one brushing against her own smooth thigh. She wonders why his claws haven't scratched her.

Long, angry strides cross the ship to her room, and he doesn't look at her as he moves into her sanctuary, simply crosses and lays her down. But these predator paws are gentle as he lowers her to her bed, and as her eyes slip closed she briefly feels a light stroke over her forehead, brushing a lock from her face. Her breathe slips from her mouth in a near silent sigh, and she thinks she hears a pause in his step at the sound, halting him ever so briefly as he leaves the room and closes the door.

"My, what large hands you have."

**A/N:** Ok so how are we travelling with this one kids? I wasn't as enamoured with the flow of River's consciousness as I was with the last chapter (because apparently I am occasionally tickled by my own writing and isn't that just the height of self-indulgence? ) Still, I've always been a fan of protective!Jayne, as I'm sure you all are. Please review!


	3. Eyes

**TITLE:** Little Red Riding Hood

**DISCLAIMER:** Nope, nuthin'.

**A/N:** Another chapter in the same day children, hope this makes up for my lack of posting! A massive thank you to the wonderfully generous reviewers who have taken the time to give their thoughts and input to this story – I'm so lucky, thank you

Little Red Riding Hood was worried. Something was wrong with her basket. She had danced and danced, desperately trying to find what it was. Her feet were bloodied; her limbs tired, her energy drained by the time her brother came and took her back to bed. She had danced for hours and hours, and yet it still eluded her. She had damaged her basket. Her precious basket of goods. Grandmother would be so disappointed.

She didn't understand how it had been altered, how those brief moments of true self-awareness had become so foreign, how her rare and fragile internal monologue had been changed. Dancing did not help, not the way it was supposed to, and those elusive moments of consciousness failed to provide the calm and solace they used to. Where once there were only thoughts of muscle movement, of concentration and basic reflection on the occurrences of the day, there was now a liquid black puddle of confusion. Vines wrapped themselves around her brain like fluid ebony snakes, and images of dark blue eyes and well-calloused hands filled her mind.

During the day she felt shaky, on edge, her breathing changing and goose bumps prickling her arms at the strangest times. She felt eyes trail over her, thrilling her senses, confusing her tenuous grasp on her emotions until she was unsure which feelings were hers and which were from other members of the crew. Equations, calculations, percentages and quadrants flooded her stream of consciousness, desperately trying to track and examine the chemical changes her body was exhibiting, trying to conclude as to what was happening.

The only pattern discernable was that such physical reactions occurred only when the Wolf was in the room. Then she would become tense, nauseous and confused. Her heart would fail her, its reassuring lub-dub speeding into a frantic and frightening rhythm, and her head would feel stuffed with cotton wool. She was on edge, eyes darting around for danger, hands shaking like thin white leaves rustled by a strong wind, as if desperate to leave her wrists and float away.

She knew this was not medication, as the horrors of Miranda had eradicated her need for medical control. She knew this was not a result of basic hormonal cycles, as she had tracked her times carefully to remove this possibility. She knew this was not the tumbling, crushing mass of insanity that sometimes threatened her, as she was still aware enough to examine her actions and motives. This was something other. She needed help.

Before she could ask for it, such help was offered. They had been planet side when, following a job, the Captain had suggested a swim before take-off. Little Red Riding Hood acquiesced, as had the rest of the crew, every one of them enjoying the sun and cool water of the nearby stream. She had slipped into the water, enjoying the buoyancy of the azure liquid. She had no suit to swim in, simply removed her shorts and slid in wearing her black panties and tank top. The others began to play, splashing and jumping around, and she simply enjoyed their radiating happiness, feeling her own as well, for rare moment of control. She felt the eyes again, sliding over her thin form, and looked around for them. When she finally found them the heat and desire in the brief glance was enough to still her movement for a moment, before she had to either move again or drown. She wasn't sure which she preferred. The eyes had left her, returning to the game with the others, and she managed to calm her breathing.

Until it had been time to leave. The Wolf had exited first, black shorts his only adornment, sweeping up his towel and heading towards the ship. She had stared. Thick corded muscle moved through his arms, bare back slightly more tanned than usual from the day's activity. Water had beaded slowly down his pelted face, across the light black fur of his chest, down towards his trunks. She felt her mouth go dry, her eyes widen, her breathing hitch. Sharp eyes had studied her, and as she left the water she felt Inara's approach.

"Mei mei, I think we need a meeting." Little Red Riding Hood had no idea as to why being female was a prerequisite to such a meeting, but deferred to her elder. The women of the ship had convened in the old shuttle of the ex-Companion, still decked in its silky jewel tones and rich tapestries. Three very different sets of eyes had all held the calm, kind expressions as they began to share.

Stories of love, of loss, of development and attraction. Stories of emotion and feeling. Stories of tension and nausea and confusion brought on by another. None were directed at her, but she began to understand. She began to comprehend. Little Red Riding Hood began to see why her basket of treats was changing, began to understand why sweets and ancient memories were being exchanged for salty sweat, raw emotion and desire. She left feeling educated.

Except none of the stories had told her what to do, or how to react to these changes. She began to withdraw, talking less, keeping her emotions in check as much as possible. She began to avoid meeting cobalt eyes, began to avoid glancing at a form so massive compared to her own, began to avoid situations alone unless necessary.

And that's when she began to feel the eyes on her. The hairs on the back of her neck would stand up, her arms would tingle with tension, and she would look around for the source. She never found it. But she felt it, felt herself being watched, felt her movements being examined, felt her actions being calculated.

It became harder and harder to avoid those situations. If she became thirsty the Wolf would be there, sharpening his claws in the kitchen. She felt his predatory eyes following her, felt them skimming over her body as strongly as if they were hands, felt them studying her. Those eyes felt dangerous, fierce…hungry.

Little Red Riding Hood was prey.

Small gestures at first. A hand skimming briefly over the small of her back as they entered a bar. A leg brushing against hers under the dinner table. A glance leaving her feeling naked, vulnerable, thrilling her. The images soon followed, intruding on her thoughts, seeing herself taken, panting, sated and glutted, desperate for more. She began to wonder if the Wolf was aware of what he was doing.

The answer came to her whilst they completed a job for Badger. Father had her with him, his first mate too vulnerable for such an adventure, much to her consternation. Little Red Riding Hood wore her dress of dark blues and indigos, remembering a time when control was even less, when an octopus could melt her mind, when she had faced the Wolf and won.

She knew the sight of a slight, fragile looking girl armed with only a barbaric blade and a glint to her eye was a strange one. Knew they thought advantages could be taken. The meeting quickly turned sour, as so many did, and she felt the betrayal before she saw it. She and the Captain had quickly dispatched the two men present, but the men in hiding were better at quieting their minds. One gripped her from behind, restricting her arms and legs, refusing to take chances. She felt his partners intention before the action had begun, knew that with Daddy down the blade in her attackers hand would make short work of her. The bullet barely made a sound as it took out one, before its friend followed it to the other.

They hadn't known about the Wolf hiding in the hills. Daddy was up and angry, grabbing his bounty and barking out his speech to the single man left barely alive. She felt her arm grabbed, was spun around to furiously angry eyes. She braced herself for the yelling, but couldn't help the hitch in her breath at the contact, couldn't help the glaze of desire that slipped over her dark brown eyes, lowering her full black lashes to half-mast.

Before he could speak he was checked by her reaction, a single brow rising as a smirk slipped across his face. His eyes swept quickly up and down her body, his smirk turning lascivious and knowing as she shivered. He knew. He had seen. The Wolf had seen her trailing to Grandmothers house, knew what was in her basket of treats. She had worked so hard to keep it hidden. But he had seen.

The Wolf released her, turning his predatory eyes towards the Captain as the two began to converse. She was left to lightly trail a hand along the length of the strong grip he'd had on her arm, feeling her skin shiver. There would be a bruise. And he had seen.

"Oh, but what big eyes you have."

**A/N:** Started a different way but I realized that suited the next chapter better, so I attempted to wrestle it into submission! Please review Next update soooon!


	4. Teeth

**TITLE:** Teeth

**DISCLAIMER:** Nope, still not mine!

**A/N:** And now for something…toothier…

Little Red Riding Hood was hunted. She knew this with certainty now. Knew that she was watched like timid prey, knew that every action, every move was studied carefully, knew her days were drawing to a close. She had started becoming slightly jumpy, turning at noises only she could hear, although the rest of the crew seemed calm about her new found tension.

She had begun watching more closely too. Begun tracking daily activity, lying still and silent on the catwalk as the Wolf moved below, staying physical even in the confines of the boat. She watched him prowl through hallways, growl at the rest of his pack, although largely in familiar, affectionate tones. She tried to avoid him but couldn't, the close confines of their shared home not permitting such separation.

Dinner was the hardest, their long established seating positions forcing her to share elbow room with the large predator. She watched him eat, watched him tear through protein and their rare treats of meat and vegetables with sharp teeth, wasting nothing of his bounty.

She watched him interact with clients, watched how Father relied on his brute strength and sharp grin to do his talking. Rarely were his words required, rather his grunts punctuated meetings, a myriad of warning noises or signs of approval and agreement. She watched as he bared those teeth threateningly on jobs, the fierceness of his gaze and sheer size of his muscled form intimidating and petrifying. She watched how he stood, just behind the Captain, always in front of other crew, more often than not in front of her. She wasn't bothered by the overt displays of dominance – she knew the difference between protection and perception of weakness.

She watched him laugh with the now heavily pregnant first mate, took note of his grin versus his smirk or his smile. Only pack saw the smile, only occasionally did it grace his face, but even when it did there was that sharpness, that ongoing alertness in the face of possible danger.

She watched him run his tongue over his teeth lasciviously, eyes narrowed and brow raised at the women they met in bars, a challenge and an invitation. She also noticed the lack of follow through, the large hunter preferring to stay with his pack now, determined to protect the remaining members rather than seek his own pleasures.

She noticed that the sharp gaze, the lustful brow, the curling tongue over sharp white teeth were now directed at her, noticed how she shivered and turned her head, unable to focus her thoughts enough for a response. She wondered when she would be made into his next meal.

She got her answer one night after dinner. Somehow, despite her best efforts, she had been placed on clean up duty with her large predator. She wondered when she had started to regard him as hers. He had been silent, going about the washing as she scraped plates and dried clean dishes to be put away. No undue contact, not a glance in her direction. Relief and disappointment were warring concepts, clanging in her skull as they rattled around her psyche. The Lamb had cooked tonight, dipping into her own private stash of strawberries to make syrup for her family, a divine gift used to sweeten the usually bland protein that formed their dessert into an incredible treat. As Little Red Riding Hood scraped the last plate she caught the briefest wisp of a thought. Milky skin and blood red strawberry syrup, painting patterns over small but supple breasts, dark hair curling over thin shoulders. Her hand slipped, marring her pale wrist with the sticky sweet liquid left on the plate.

The Wolf was fast, spinning and catching her wrist in one hand, the falling plate in the other. He placed the plate on the table without a word, keeping a hold of her thin arm. He turned to her, eyes dark and hungry, first looking down into hers, then towards her wrist. He slowly pulled her arm upwards, the movement pressing her into his body as he brought his captured prey towards his mouth. His height forced her to stretch, nearly en pointe as he moved his target closer. His eyes refused to leave her own; locking them into a stare as he slowly licked the sticky length of her wrist. His massive paw swamped her slim forearm, and his tongue felt rough and hot as he took his time removing the red line of syrup.

Her breathing hitched, her heart raced, her mouth opening as she watched him scrape the last of the mess from her shaking wrist. Being pressed into the massive wall of muscle, unable to move, she couldn't even make herself pull away. His tongue began to work with his teeth, nipping and biting and sucking away the very last remnants of his prize. He slowly released her wrist, which her other hand immediately grasped to her chest where her heart beat so loud and heavy she was sure the whole boat could hear it, and his eyes never left hers. A slow, salacious smirk crept its way across his face before he licked his lips and left. A single backwards glance making sure she knew that this wasn't over.

Little Red Riding Hood was left holding her wrist to her breasts, her mouth open as she struggled to control her breathing. Her knees were weak and shaky, her wrist remembering the sensations as if they were still occurring. She wondered what it would be like to be entirely devoured.

Later that night she sat in the centre of her bed, legs tucked up against her chest, thin arms wrapped around slim white limbs, hair falling forwards over her pale face. A tank top and pair of panties were her only adornment, both in a red so dark they were almost black, setting off her porcelain skin and tumbling chocolate hair. The hairs on her arms stood before she even heard the latch to her room open, before her door started to slide opening, letting the large predator into her home.

He slid the door shut behind him, slowly prowling towards her, slipping his large cargo jacket from his shoulders and stripping his shirt from his torso. He pushed her back over the mattress, slowly covering her thin, tiny form with his own massive body. One pale hand, fingers fine and fluttering, traced a delicate pattern across his mouth, and her voice was barely a whisper.

"My, what big teeth you have."

His answering grin was hungry…wolfish.

"Baby-girl, you got no idea."

The End

**A/N:** That's all folks! For the record this was meant to be consensual, in case someone was confused, I know it might be a teensy bit dark. Actually I am contemplating an epilogue, since I kinda like the idea of wolf pups being included somewhere, but I'm not sure yet how I'll go about it. I had sooo much fun writing this, and a massive thanks must go out to the divine reviewers I have been gifted with, who make writing all the more enjoyable. I hope this ending was good for everyone, and let's face it, can't say I'd mind being devoured by Jayne…you? :D Please review!


	5. The Woodsmen

**TITLE:** The Woodsmen

**DISCLAIMER**: Yup, suddenly, in the 5th chapter of this little tale, I have become the owner of all rights to Firefly inc…ok…that was a lie.

**A/N:** So many people seemed to want a little more from this story, and I decided that I did to! Hope you enjoy this little finale, although I've got to say it's kinda long my usual veins. But hey, I like writing it, so I figure what the hey

Cain and Seamus sat quietly in the corner of the room. They had been here over three hours, watching and waiting the growing number of patrons entering the bay. O'Donnell's was a popular place on Grand'Mere, the little moon they were inhabiting this month. It was a popular stop over for travellers as well as the locals, providing a nice mix of people who could easily go missing. And they liked that just fine.

Their current employer, a seedy little weed of a Rim man who needed girls for his less than reputable brothel, had contracted them to find him some good looking tail. The man couldn't entice even the most jaded working girl to whore under his conditions, since no woman in her right mind would submit to being used like that, or allow their kids to be used like that. Uncivilized the Rim planets may be, but folks out there still didn't hold to sex slavery, specially not when kids was involved. So here they were, looking for someone who could easily disappear.

The take would be especially good iffen they could grab a kid too. They knew the establishment, knew that fine looking Core gentlemen would wander in, pretending to be lost, and stay for the opportunity to indulge in some dark fantasies. Scruples not being a huge part of their work, they were happy to oblige for such a handsome price.

'Cept they'd been looking for nigh on three hours and couldn't seem to find even one fine looking lady who was a viable option. The women always seemed to be in groups that had men around them, always seemed to be watched, and even the few who brought kids in with them held on tightly to their little 'uns.

Locals were wary of their type, although no one knew them well enough to know for sure they were looking for girls. If they had they knew their asses would be kicked out right quick, so they stayed unobtrusive, drinking quietly. No one bothered them, although Seamus thought he saw a few strange glances in their direction. Their presence was masked even better by the rowdy table to their left. Three men were well into a good night's drinking, the slimmer one with dark hair looking the farthest gone. The oldest man, a handsome fella with brown hair, was cackling at something the big one was saying. Something about them made Cain uncomfortable, but since they hadn't even glanced in his direction he abstained from shifting tables.

Cain blew out a frustrated breath. "Ain't never gonna find what we're looking for iffen we stay here, spose we should go check out Farthing's down the road." Seamus nodded, and took out his radio to signal the three other men position around the bar, when he suddenly stopped.

"Well looky here." Cain followed his eye line to the bar door. She was young, young enough that the little girl in her arms could be a much younger sister, since the woman didn't look a day over 19. Her confident hold of the child named her as the Mother, and the little girl was happily playing with a silver band on her left hand. Her long dark hair tumbled down her back, her red dress showing a very slim body, clunky combat boots making her legs look like sticks. The little girl had on a pretty party dress, the purple kind with ruffles that children wear as their Sunday best, and had on a tiny red cloak with a little red hood, matching her Mama.

They were perfect. All porcelain skin and dark eyes, with long lashes and perfect pink smiles between them. These weren't regular Rim girls, these were Core bred, stunning and fragile looking, and it didn't hurt at all that the mother looked so damn young. Her thin arms were clasped around her child, eyes calm and serene as she spoke in a hushed voice to the baby. A well matched pair, the little girl looking like a living doll with the rosy blush to her pale cheeks, the mother holding the baby close.

The woman seemed to have no particular direction, merely heading to the bar and asking for a glass of milk, which her daughter promptly swallowed. She took the baby to the edge of the dance floor, the little one giggling happily as her mother bounced her elegantly in time to the jaunty beat.

Cain and Seamus glanced at one another, then to their comrades around the room. All five men had spotted the bounty, knowing straight away that this was what they were looking for. The woman, after a little longer spent bouncing and dancing with the happily babbling baby, was slowly heading towards the door.

So focussed on their intent that they failed to notice the silence from the previously rowdy table, they stood quickly and began to follow her out. Staying some distance they signalled quickly to one another that the woman was turning down a dark alley, one they knew had no end. They heard her singing an aimless little tune, something about going to Grandmother's house?

Grinning now, they quickly turned the corner, each thinking excitedly about the take they were about to receive for this easy target. Cain thought he might even have a closer look at the mother on their journey to the brothel, and knew the other men had similar thoughts. They turned, hands remaining off their weapons so as to appear relatively trustworthy at first, moving quickly into the mouth of the alley…

Where they stopped dead. Four women, the mother amongst them, were aiming firearms at their heads. The tallest, a mocha skinned beauty who Seamus absently thought would fetch a high price on his home world, was standing in front of a little boy of about four, whose blue eyes looked at odds with the dark curls and coffee caste of his skin. The other two were smiling humourlessly at them, the one with the dark curling hair and blood red lips holding a bow strung taut and ready to fire. The taller woman spoke.

"Seems we caught us some hunters." Seeing the slightly feral glint in the eyes of the thin woman they had followed out, they began to back out of the alley, jumping when they heard a voice.

"Seems that way Zo', question now is what we're gonna do with them." They turned quickly, seeing the three men they had previously thought to be inebriated blocking their exit, the biggest standing right at the back. The slim man was holding a gun and lounging comfortably against one wall, while the leader, for the older man was unmistakably that, was standing in the centre, revolver pointed firmly at them. He continued speaking, drawling voice laced with hostility and anger.

"See, we reckon you're here on some unseemly business, and the kind folks of this town are paying us to do somethin' bout it. Course, I woulda done it fer free, but I ain't never said no to payment for justice." Their three useless comrades had held up their hands, looking frightened and pathetic.

Seamus turned back towards the women, who had slowly advanced, and noted that the other young one looked uncomfortable holding her weapon. He thought about nudging Cain, ready to make an impassioned plea to the slightly less fearsome woman, when her eyes narrowed with a hatred that looked inappropriate on such a sweet face.

"Don't think about it mister, I've heard what y'all do with kids." The slim one spoke, thin arm holding her weapon comfortably pointed right between his eyes.

"Shouldn't mistake sweetness for stupidity, woodsman." Seamus and Cain both raised eyebrows, while the large man at the back of the pack chuckled lowly in his throat. Cain finally spoke.

"We got people who'll come lookin' for us, could pay you better'n the townsfolk to let us go." The slim man snorted in disgust, shaking his head, as the leader looked on with barely disguised contempt.

"Ain't gonna be none of that, ain't nobody gonna come looking for ya." Seamus knew he was being honest, but played his card anyway.

"Our employer, he'll pay you real good, we can get him here now if need be." The leader shook his head.

"Naw, we already seen to yer man, ain't nothin' he can do now." He flung a capture at Cain's feet. He bent slowly, picking it up and holding it out so they could all see. The first image was of a corpse, but what could be done to create something so vile and distorted they had no idea. The large emerald ring on his left finger told them who he was. The next image was of the brothel, burning quickly, as small explosion went off around the base of it. The slim woman was watching on, a small smile on her face.

Seamus snatched away the capture and threw it to the ground, desperate not to see that horrible corpse again. The leader smiled.

"So ya see fella's, this here is the end of the line." The big man stepped forward at this, advancing on them, taking their weapons quickly and tossing them to the slim man, who bagged them. Then the big one, in whose eyes Cain noted an animalistic hatred bordering on insanity, looked around carefully, watching for someone.

"Safely packed away for now." The big one nodded at the slim woman who spoke, before turning back to the leader.

"Now?" The other man nodded.

"Now."

He was so fast Seamus and Cain couldn't keep up, but where there had once been the three idiots they'd employed to help them obtain and transport the cargo, there were now only three corpses. Two had their necks broken, the last lying with half his jaw torn out. None of their watchers flinched. Seamus struggled to hold back the bile.

"What're you gonna do with me an' Cain?" The leader and the slim man had the queerest glint in their eyes as they slowly backed out on the alley. Three of the four women, the young boy trailing behind his mother, followed them out to the mouth. The slim woman walked behind a bin, picking up her daughter. She moved to the big man, who placed a quick kiss on the little ones head, before passing her over to the young woman with light brown hair.

The big man walked towards the others, but stopped and leaned against the far wall, nodding to the older man. The leader, still with that strange glint in his eye, a mix of fierce hatred and the smallest amount of pity, shrugged.

"We're gonna leave you fer her." They left.

Seamus and Cain turned towards the woman they had previously seen as prey. Without the child, with her weapon tucked into her boot, she looked frail and fragile, like the slightest wind could blow her over. But the lean legs stood strong, and the eyes were still calm and peaceful as she advanced slowly towards them. They'd never seen anything as terrible as that calm, peaceful look. The massive man was watching them intently, arms crossed comfortably across his chest, effectively blocking their exit. She smiled the strangest smile at them.

"Off to Grandmother's house we go."

They never found the bodies. There was nothing left to find.

* * *

Little Red Riding Hood prowls towards her den. She has washed off the blood and the screams, washed away the vile memories that had exploded from their minds like pus from an infected wounds, washed away the remnants of them. She looks in at her sleeping pup, touching her mind briefly, sensing no fear or discontent, just happy dreams of family.

She moves from the doorway towards the cargo bay, where her mate is lifting weights, venting his still hot burning anger on his own body. She trails silently down the stairs, into the darkness, slipping towards him. He senses her, sitting up and wiping the sweat from his bare chest, the fresh tattoo of _Canis Lupus _stretching with him. His eyes rake over her red silk nightgown, the small curves of her breasts and hips, down her long legs to her bare feet. She smiles, settling herself into his waiting lap, straddling his bench.

"Gotta say baby-girl, you definitely look better in red."

Red Riding Hood smiles as she rubs her face against her mate's stubbled jaw, enjoying the scratch of his fur. The Wolf holds her closer, his hands drawing her nightgown up as the run over her smooth thighs.

She knew the storytellers had it wrong all along.

The End

**A/N:** Ah children, sad to see this one finish, but I hope this little epilogue satisfies any need for more. Please review my darlings! Until next time Browncoats,

The Frisky Firelily


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